


White Shadows

by samspecter (aspenstarlight)



Category: Suits (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 23:11:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspenstarlight/pseuds/samspecter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel wasn't the only one who left his brothers and sisters. Another angel has been in hiding, as a hunter and something else. His name, Raguel. Calling for help with a hunt, he ends up getting the Winchesters, and by extension Castiel. Events are set into motion, secrets are discovered, covers are blown, and the chapters are still being written.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> So I had planned on doing a Suits/SPN fic for the crossover big bang, however, as I started writing, the story began to fall apart and I decided to drop out. So I started a new fic, and took the aspects I liked most from the other one. We'll see where this goes. The is the only chapter I have done, but updates should come once every 1-2 weeks. As of right now, it's unbetaed, but I'll probably get one eventually. So, let's do this! :D
> 
> Timeline: The Song Remains the Same for Supernatural, and The Shelf Life for Suits.

**Chapter One**

The guy wasn't what Sam and Dean expected. Hunters were generally…well, not this guy. Dressed in a sleek black three piece suit, shiny dress shoes, his dark hair slicked back, the only thing that screamed hunter were his sharp brown eyes, which were both tired and wary as he watched the two approach.

"You the hunters Bobby sent?" he asked as they came to a stop a few feet away, where he was leaning on a big, black SUV, hands in his pockets. His voice was as smooth as the fancy pink silk tie around his neck, Dean thought. It kind of made his skin crawl.

"Yeah. Dean."

"I'm Sam."

The hunter groaned, crossing his arms across his chest and eyeing them in displeasure. "He fucking sent the Winchesters. Of course. I thought you guys had an apocalypse to stop."

Dean grit his teeth together, and opened his mouth to make a cutting reply back, but an arm across his chest and a quiet, "Dean." from Sam had him biting his tongue.

"Bobby said you thought it was what, demons?" Sam said neutrally, ignoring the jab and getting down to why they were there.

"Not thought. Know. Was working a haunting at a friend's bar, but found the ghost wasn't their main problem. Has to have been at least ten, couldn't be sure though. I was only working the haunting as a side job, and wasn't watching for something else. Stupid mistake. I almost missed the little meeting they were having. More like a pissing match."

"Ten? And you weren't killed?" Sam said, and Dean was inclined to agree. "How the hell'd you escape?"

A rueful grin crossed the man's face, tugging a little on the small scar on the corner of his right lip. Dean wondered how he'd gotten it.

"Yes, well, I was using a business function as my cover. It was true, so there was no reason to suspect me as a hunter. And they weren't there to kill. They were planning."

"Business function?" Dean had latched on to the phrasing. "You're not full time?"

Snorting, the man shook his head. He reached into his back pocket and dug out a wallet, taking a moment to look for something in it. "You're kidding, right? If hunting paid the bills, _maybe_ I'd consider full time. But my other job is just as _fun_ , and pays much better. And has a much better dress code." He finally pulled out a nicely made business card, and handed it to Sam, while running his eyes over their shabbier clothing in slight disdain. "Presumably you two are up to the job then?"

"Of course. Yeah. We can do it. Got a safe place to meet?" Dean asked, watching as the man pushed off from the side of the SUV, and headed to the driver's door. He popped it open, and swiftly climbed in, nodding before closing the door.

"Address is on the back of the card," he called out through the open window. "So's the number. Call in the morning. We can figure out details then."

With that, he stuck the keys in the ignition, and started the SUV. It purred to life, and with a vague two finger wave, the hunter was gone.

"Dean, you gotta see this." He turned to grab the card Sam handed out to him, surprised at the shocked look on his brother's face. What was it about the man that could incite that reaction?

After reading the name and the following job title after it, his eyebrows were raised. _That_ was the guy's day job?

_Harvey Specter_

_Lawyer, Pearson Hardman_

* * *

Steam swirled around the little bathroom, carrying a heaviness that weighed the room down. The fan on the ceiling feebly sputtered in an attempt to clear it, but considering it had probably not been cleaned since the run down hotel had been established, Sam thought it was a losing battle. He could have turned down the hot water, but the burn of it against his back was a nice, if not a complete, distraction from his thoughts. Pain, he could deal with. But he wasn't quite sure how to deal with this, the emotions he felt seeing Specter's occupation on that damned little embossed business card.

There was curiosity, and confusion, and a (un)healthy dose of self-depreciation, he thought as he ran a hand through his long wet hair, sighing. There was anger, and jealousy, and disbelief. His mind was racing through what if scenarios and he just wanted to stop _wondering_.

What if he had somehow been able to finish his law degree? What if Azazel hadn't made a deal with his mother, what if Sam hadn't been one of the unlucky children? What if Jess hadn't died? What if they had gotten a house together, gotten married, had children of their own, gotten jobs? Would he perhaps have become like Harvey Specter, lawyer by day, hunter by night? That sounded too much like a superhero, and he snorted in disdain. He had vowed to quit hunting, but now of course he knew that you couldn't just quit the game. It followed you, stalked you. It was…too much to think about right now.

He turned around in the small shower, and stepped into the scalding spray, closing his eyes and letting the water wash over his face and down his body. He just wished it could wash away the questions and sudden doubts.

* * *

It was eerily silent in the alley, except for a strange gurgling sound and the quieter plopping sound of something liquid hitting something solid. Two human shaped figures, both women, were weakly illuminated by the yellow flood lights at the end of the alley, and from his vantage point, it looked almost like the figures were embracing. He knew better though, and soon enough, the shorter figure awkwardly slipped down, and fell onto the ground, lying there, still and unmoving. He winced, but fixed his attention to the other figure. The fact that this had to be done made him feel dirty.

A melodic voice, speaking in a beautiful, almost otherworldly, language, echoed down the alley, barely reaching the observing man. The meaning and intention he translated easily; after all, it was his first language. It sounded a bit strange coming from a demon's mouth, though he wasn't surprised his brother had taught them this. The bloodier and more painful to a human, the better. It made his Grace ache something fierce, and he already knew what he was going to do once the demon was gone from the area. What he had to do.

The cadence of the chant slowed, then stopped, which caught his attention. Instead of Enochian, the woman began speaking English, her tone sharp and cold.

"He's near. The tracking spell is working well. We should find him within the week."

"…"

"I understand. No mistakes. I will inform you immediately upon his capture."

"…"

"Of- of course. They wouldn't dare."

"…"

"Yes, fine."

And with that, the call was over, before it had hardly begun. He wished he had been able to hear the other side, but part of him was also glad. He wasn't sure if he could stand the sound of his voice right now. It had been so long. Painfully long.

There was a metallic clink, followed by a sickening splat, and he watched as the demon gave a nasty grin down at its victim, giving the lifeless body a kick, before vanishing silently, leaving nothing behind but the stench of sulphur which wafted down the alley towards him. Waiting a moment, making sure that the demon was no longer in the area, with a beat of his wings he was kneeling in front of the lifeless body.

Raguel looked at her in remorse, tenderly brushing her blonde hair aside from her neck area, ignoring the dark red blood that became slick on his hands. Despite the fact that he didn't need to, he took a deep breath. Then he reached inside himself, into the core of his Being, where his Grace was. The beautiful swirling silver and blue and white of it began to coalesce, and his wings flared out around him and the woman, the Grace making them shine and crackle, unseen to all but him. His whole body began to glow a luminous white, slowly gaining in intensity as he pulled more and more burning Grace outwards and started to guide it down towards his right hand. He let it twine around his fingers, and then up his arm to his elbow, forming something of a long glove. Flexing his fingers, feeling and examining the energy dancing around his fingertips, he let his Grace seep into his eyes, so he could See, and then he _Reached_.

* * *

With a gasp, Amelia Anderson woke up, dazed, disoriented, confused, and alone. But alive.

* * *

Depending on who you ask to name the archangels, you're likely to get a fairly different response each time. Of course the three main angels mentioned were probably going to be Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael. Occasionally Lucifer's name would be thrown out, and that wasn't necessarily wrong. Uriel, on the other hand, was wrong, since he was not quite an archangel, merely one of the higher ranking angels, but like many things, humans misinterpreted.

The name you'd hardly ever hear thrown out, was Raguel. Never explicitly mentioned in the Bible, the only place Raguel's name appeared was in the Book of Enoch, an ancient Jewish manuscript written by the great-grandfather of Noah. In the book, Raguel was one of Seven, whose Purpose then had been to impose divine vengeance on the angels who went against the Father. Raguel also sought harmony between the angels, and worked to keep the peace. A task of his that was not as well tolerated by some, was another Purpose, that of Enforcer. Among keeping harmony between the angels, he Enforced part of God's Will, which was keeping harmony between the angels and humans. The last one was a real sticking point for some angels. It had been ironic that one of those angels was his mate.

Which came back to the fact that few knew Raguel was an archangel. The only reason, and it was a simple one, was that Raguel wanted it that way. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with his brothers. The brothers who had twisted their Father's will to their own convenience and ideals. It disgusted him. So he fled. Right after his Father.

Because despite his Purpose, despite his literal falling out with his mate, despite his rebellious brothers and sisters, despite the War and the death and the suffering and the heartbreak, there was one thing above all else that he would never let go. One thing that would stay with him forever. His name.

Raguel, "Friend of God". And boy was God really starting to feel some misgivings over that one.

* * *

The rhythmic click clack of keys from a computer keyboard sounded loud in the empty room. The man hunched over the computer further, staring intently at the bright screen, the only source of illumination in the small room, and carefully analyzed the words as he typed. It was a very important, no, _crucial_ , scene and it had to be perfect. Not that it could be anything else.

He stopped typing for a moment and adjusted his glasses, which were unneeded, but fun anyway. He scratched absentmindedly at the two days worth of stubble on his face with a hand, and went to run it through his curly hair, then thought better of it. Maybe after a shower. He took a sniff of his armpit out of curiosity. A long one perhaps. Sometimes he forgot that human bodies had to consciously stay clean.

Sighing, he quickly read through the scene again, his lips moving silently. He frowned when he caught something, and quickly moved the cursor to it, then added an adverb.

"There," he whispered, eyes brightening. A grin stole across his face, the harsh bluish light casting him into sharp contrast in a terrifying effect. "It's perfect."

"I disagree."

There was a pause as he turned in his wooden chair, which squeaked loudly, to acknowledge his new companion. Leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen was a man. Well, something with the appearance of a man. A good looking, stylish, currently dangerous something, if his expression was anything to go by.

"You're upset," he said, turning back to his computer and the finished chapter. His _perfect_ finished chapter. He very much did not want to look the man in the eye right then.

"Damn right I am. The Winchesters? Of all the people Singer could send, he sends _them?_ " The man sounded enraged. "And you knew."

"Yes. Of course I knew. I wrote it."

"So stop writing it."

"I can't…..perhaps just handle it, ya know, on your own," he offered feebly.

Another drawn out pause, then the suddenly pleading, terrified voice asked, "Father, please?"

God closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Raguel-"

"No! No." His voice was bitter, and God almost flinched at the sound of it. "Forget I was here."

There was a quiet flutter, and God was alone again. He took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes wearily, and replaced the frames back on his face. He stared at the words on the screen, the black text now mocking him. But….it had to be done.

"It's for your own good, my friend," he whispered, clicking the save button and closing the program. "And his."


End file.
